


Jigsaw

by svetlanacat4



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svetlanacat4/pseuds/svetlanacat4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles written from various prompts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enchanted

 

 

He stretched languorously his legs, his arms, savoring the thrilling feeling of breeze caressing his body. He knelt down on the stone phalanx and parted the foliage. Water was springing from the dilapidated pitcher, flowing down along the rocks. He got up, took a step forward, waved at the Colosso dell'Appennino and dove gracefully.  
The other man smiled. The beautiful creature that his lover had turned into held him in his spell. An enchanting sight in an enchanted place... The male Naiad sliced through the green water towards the shore, hauled himself effortlessly on the rocks and embraced his prey.


	2. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was an ordinary day...

 

 

 

He entered and switched off the alarm. Eventually, the day had been an  
ordinary one. He indulged himself in a self satisfied smile though  
tinged with a hint of bitterness. Yes, an ordinary day.  
  
Taking off his jacket, loosening his tie, he was about to flop into the  
couch when something caught his attention. He froze.  
  
The box had been left in the most prominent place, on the coffee table,  
having pride of place on an artistic stack of scientific magazines.  
  
In the box, there were chocolates.  
  
The address of a restaurant.  
  
A time.  
  
A card.  
  
“Happy Birthday, my friend!”  
  
Napoleon...


	3. May the Force be with you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in 1980... Napoleon chooses the Drak Side of the Force...

 

 

A broad smile split Napoleon's face, turning into a devilish grin. Illya would so appreciate that.

He folded up the newspaper and pressed a button.

“Mandy, please, call Mr. Kuryakin...”

She smiled at the handset... such a gorgeous man... “Immediately, sir!” Mr. Kuryakin... The blond Mr. Kuryakin... She sighed with delight.

***

The Russian scowled at his friend. “Ordinary people happen to work sometimes, Napoleon! I've things...”

“You liked Star Wars... Come on...”

***

Not bad, Illya thought. Especially Yoda... He was quite...

“ _Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size do you?”_

Someone chuckled mischievously next to him.


	4. Secret Melody, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a very old piano...

 

 

“It was a very old piano... precious...” He ran his fingers on the broken keys, blowing the dust away. “Look... ivory and ebony... Someone played this piano... A musician...” The voice betrayed a mix of wonder and bitterness.

Old memories, his friend thought. Old... and sad. He knew better than to ask. He had, in the past. “Some things are better left unsaid,”Illya had muttered. Over the years, Napoleon had got bits and pieces...

Illya picked up two keys miraculously unbroken. He caressed them fondly, his face suddenly lighting up. For a split second.

A devastating smile. Breathtaking. Heartbreaking.

 


	5. Secret Melody, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We had one like this at home...

 

 

“We had one like this at home...” He paused. “It was my mama's...” Smile again at the memory...”She... She was a talented pianist. Sometimes... I sat on her lap and put my hands on hers. Then... she played...”

Napoleon could see long and thin fingers dancing deftly on the keys with smaller hands following the move. He could see the blond boy's face concentrated on the music, on the moment. Then long fingers gave way to the child's, guiding them on the keyboard, eventually letting them play...

He remained motionless while the keys sounded sweet notes of Illya's memory. 


	6. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewdrops on a pink hood...

 

 

The blond head was nodding and eventually rested on his shoulder. He kept motionless, though indulging himself in blowing on a soft golden lock. Dawn was breaking, ending at last a long, boring and useless watch.

An innocent hand slipped limply on his thigh. The ocean was sparkling with pink and orange and the sun rose. The blond stirred, bathed in the dazzling light. The hand slipped down, resting on his crotch. Not so innocent.

Warm lips set fire to his neck, his nipples, his stomach...

The very last thing he was aware of were dewdrops on the pink hood.


	7. Special game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1: Pick five fandoms. List them in alphabetical order.
> 
> 2: Visit this site to find your first RANDOM POEM OF POWER. Write down the 5th line (yes, even if it's an E.E. Cummings poem and you wind up with an apostrophe). Repeat five times and - you guessed it - list 'em in alphabetical order! (No cheating, mind! This is a challenge and it's always been about creativity.)
> 
> 3: I think you can see where this is going. Write a very quick 50-word half-drabble for each fandom (try to do it all in one sitting - make your brain explode!), using the line from the poem as a prompt. You don't have to include it in the half-drabble - it's just inspiration.
> 
> 4: Bravo! Have a cookie.

** **

**Doctor Who**

“ _A thing of dust I have striven for”_

 

The Doctor bent over the stone and brush the dust aside. The answer was there. It had to be... and there it was, chiseled in the gray granite. He smiled at the thought of her smiling while she was chiseling this... “ I love you, Doctor.”

Suddenly the stone crumbled away.

 

 

**Invisible Man**

“ _But you cannot stand in the middle of this”_

 

“Where are you?”

He wouldn't answer. Kate chuckled and looked around, seeking for some footprints in the sand. None. Boys were boys, she thought. Dan could be a scientist, he wouldn't miss such an opportunity. Something swooshed, dragging her down.

They drew sand angels in the middle of the beach.

 

**Man from Uncle**

“ _Don't ask. I won't say. I don't know.”_

 

They're peeping at me, watching out for any sign but I won't please them. Alexander Waverly called me out a few minutes ago. He looked at me, smirked like a contented cat and held out a file to me.

“Illya Kuryakin... our first Russian agent... and from now... your partner.”

 

**Sapphire and Steel**

“ _Her eyes were sad”_

 

“Poor creatures...”

Steel ignored the comment. A thing he had noticed about the other elements was this regrettable tendency to indulge in human feelings.

Compassion...

“Sapphire...”

As she kept silent, he rested his hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head, pressing her cheek against it.

He kissed her forehead.

 

**Space 1999**

“ _I just made out among the black”_

 

Why?

Above all, Alan loved flying his Eagle alone, enjoying those so rare moments of solitude and serenity. Time to think. Time to be.

He hadn't made his way back to Earth.

He had followed the Moon.

Among the Alphans, he was the one who had chosen his fate...

Why?

  


 


	8. The Fair-Haired Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jules Cutter disagrees but Alexander Waverly knows.

 

 

Cutter went on arguing though he knew for sure that the other man wouldn't change his mind. He stared deep into Waverly's eyes.

“It's sheer madness. This...” He pursed his lips, “...decision will result in our losing credibility. Damned, Alexander, did you hear about Cold War? It won't earn us good credit with the CIA...”

“Did you hear about United Network Command, Jules?” Waverly's blue eyes twinkled through the bushy eyebrows. Cutter sighed in dismay. Waverly handed a file to him.

“This is Illya Kuryakin.”

“Eeeh...” Cutter yelped, “What do you want me to do with ... this fair-haired boy?”


	9. A blink of an eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two partners, a deserted hallway...

 

 

He felt confused. “Confused”? It didn't convey his feeling. In a blink of an eye, in a split second, his most absolute certainties had broken up. In a split second, in a blink of an eye, his most impossible dream had come true.

He closed his eyes and tried to get to sleep. He couldn't. All he thought about, all he saw was his partner's blazing eyes in the deserted hallway. Alone for a split second. A hand had brushed his lapel, dragged him in a quick embrace. He had kissed him. Footsteps... voices... One step back. Talking agents. Partners


	10. Pas de Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two partners, a tiny cabin...

 

 

 

How came any time he worked with him, they always found themselves in such awkward situations? He stirred unwittingly and immediately regretted it as it caused the slender body to press against his own in the tiny cabin. Slender but muscular, supple and... almost naked, with those damned dance tights... The smooth chest quivered imperceptibly and hair brushed his cheek while fingers were sneakily running down his back. No, he scolded himself. His partner was just trying to make themselves more comfortable. But he could feel every square inch of the warm body. None of them could lie much longer..


	11. I love you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beyond Echo...

 

 

One would think after all those months I'd managed to tell him...

When could I ever tell him...?

How could I ever tell him...?

I love you. Three words.

He wouldn't shoot at me. He'd look at me. I'd read uncertainty, disappointment, disgust... worse: pity.

I...

_I..._

Love...

_Lov...._

You...

_You..._

Basaltic cliff echoes the words which hopelessly come back to me, meaningless...

Useless.

I should have told him.

I'm lost in a gray world. Obsidian rocks, pewter sky. Forsaken.

No. There's a distant roar.

He's looking for me.

He'll find me and I'll tell him.


	12. Summer Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lies back on the other bed...

 

 

 

He lies back on the other bed, his hands behind his head, perfectly relaxed, probably asleep. His worn shirt, unbuttoned, reveals some golden chest, a rosy nipple and his medal. He's barely breathing.

He sighs – a dream? - His right hand rests now on the flat stomach, just above his belt, pulling the shirt aside. He's so slim and so graceful... He looks like a gymnast or a dancer. His left hand glides smoothly on the pillow, pointing at me in an unconscious invitation, sending a chill down my spine. He turns to look at me. Blue eyes smile at me.


	13. Summer Dream, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's asleep. Or not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A hand behind his head, his hair exquisitely tousled... He's asleep. He's beautiful, perfectly relaxed, the ghost of a smile curling his upper lip... Sweet dreams, my friend.

Dreams?

He's asleep. Or not.

I'm lying on the other bed, pretending to sleep, but I know. He's watching me. I feel his eyes running on my body, as warm hands...

He's watching me. My hand brushes my chest and rests above my belt. He breathes faster. I hold out my other hand to him in an apparently unconscious invitation.

He's watching me. I'm watching him.

I smile.

The die is cast.


	14. Seriously?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raised eyebrow, pouting lips... Seriously?

 

 

 

 

“ _Seriously?”_

He didn't say the word. I heard it.

I read his face.

I managed to crack a self-confident smile, waved at him casually and left the office.

***

“ _Seriously?”_

She burst out laughing, her hand brushing mine as she held out her glass to me.

“Let's toast, dear...”

Her laugh usually as clear as a bell turned into a deafening caw.

Did spiders caw, as well?

***

“ _Seriously?”_

The single word spoke volumes. Untying the ropes, he dragged me through twirling smoke.

***

“ _Seriously?”_

Waverly frowned at me and got back to the microdot my smirking partner held out to him.

 


	15. Spectacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar, awful glasses on the concrete ground... Broken.

_ _

_Concrete had crunched strangely under his feet._

_The underground car park was deserted. It was empty except for..._

_Dark horn-rimmed glasses, broken._

_He sighed involuntarily and crouched down. Those glasses were... quite strange, dated, functional and depressing._

_And illogically familiar._

_An impossible remnant of an erased past, a past leading to a future which wasn't his._

 

He woke up breathless, stirred by a pointless though pressing need to get up.

The carpet rustled softly under his feet.

The dark horn-rimmed glasses were on the table. Dated, functional, depressing and... unbroken.

“Illya?”

He smiled and came back to his lover.


	16. The Second After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had tried to save the world, one more time.

 

 

 

 

First it was a silent explosion of light.

A blinding explosion.

He sought his friend's hand. Their fingers entwined.

A glowing lava of light drifted on the sea, dazzling and silent, glorious and merciless.

Soon it would engulf them.

Slowly, imperceptibly, the light rose up gracefully in a fascinating aurora Borealis.

They had tried to save the world, one more time.

They faced their failure.

Soon the aurora would turn into a lethal cloud.

Soon a deafening wave would sweep them away.

But there was just a lapping.

A chuckle.

A breathtaking smile.

Fingers waving small pliers.

A promising sunrise.

 


	17. Hallways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Russian agent at the New York Uncle HQ...

 

 

 

An old tailor's shop.

A fitting room.

Grey corridors, as it was to be expected.

Wrong, he wasn't in London anymore.

Gray hallways.

A web of gray hallways intersecting at right angles.

Sliding doors materializing silently.

Winking panel boards.

People walking along in accordance to a well arranged choreography, capable and efficient people who nodded at him mechanically. Politely. They didn't pay attention to him. Apparently.

Familiar rustle of voices, footsteps, computers...

“Mr. Kuryakin? Mr. Waverly is waiting for you.”

The pleasant brunette pointed at a door.

Alexander Waverly and a dark haired man stood next to a round table.


	18. Caught!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fisrt meeting...

 

he man who entered the room and greeted Waverly didn't match what I'd heard about him. To tell the truth, those who were chatting about the Russian didn't know any better about him. Obviously he wasn't the spiritual heir of an oafish bear and a weightlifter nuclear scientist. Though... nuclear scientist, he was kind of, apparently, according to his file.

 

“Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Solo.”

 

We nodded at each other.

Illya N. Kuryakin, Soviet citizen, PhD. in Quantum Mechanics, incidentally UNCLE Section 2 agent and by the way my partner to be stood in front of me.

I got caught immediately.


	19. Body Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya spoke so many languages...

 

 

 

[ ](http://s1239.beta.photobucket.com/user/svetlanacat6/library/)

 

“They used a combination of languages...”

He loosened his collar, concentrated on the cypher.

 

A warm hand slipped under the white shirt, fingers running down his  
stomach, pulling him close.

 

“This is Greek...”

 

Fingers brushed his right nipple, mercilessly, causing him to shiver.

 

“And... this is... Mandarin Chinese...”

 

Another hand was sneakily loosening his belt, diving under his underpants,  
causing him to gasp in expectation.

 

“...Serbo-Croatian...”

 

Fingers danced a synchronized ballet, pinching, fondling, causing the blond

head to lean back against the strong chest.

 

“...Russian...”

 

Warm lips nibbled his ear, whispering, “I speak two langages... English  
and your body...”  
  
 _Thanks to Mae West..._

  


 


	20. Hopscotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future of a past he doesn't remember...

His hand brushed the doorknob. The door gave way. He took some steps forward ,freezing. For all he could see, the place was empty and deserted, a realm of darkness, sad, cold, soulless. Except for an amazing hopscotch, drawn on the floor by the moonlight, through the window.

His vision was blurred, he closed his eyes, trying to recreate the familiar universe. His memory betrayed him.

Here he was, the last square, Safe, Home, Rest, Heaven... ? Just Hell, his own Hell.

His heart bounced on the floor, a flat, round stone.

“I knew you'd come back some day. You promised.”


	21. We may have all come on different ships...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... but we're in the same boat now." Martin Luther King Jr

His arms were pinned against the wall, powerful fingers entwined round his wrists, a strong body pressed urgently against his own. Not that he couldn't wrench himself free. He could have. He had to. He would, as soon as he'd get his breath back, as soon as his heart would stop racing, as soon as he could think again.

The burning lips had left his own, brushing his temple. There were footsteps, voices, close. The hands slid down his waist, holding him in a foolish embrace. His own clung to his partner's shoulders.

"I want you to come with me.”


	22. Trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He trusted him with his life...

_Throwing himself off a breathtakingly high cliff, knowing for sure that strong hands would grab him, haul him up into the helicopter..._

_Smiling defiantly at the firing squad, knowing for sure that strong hands would pull him away and shoot the villains..._

_Taking a step froward in darkness, emptiness, knowing for sure that strong hands would bring him back to life..._

_Strong hands to be trusted..._

_“Trust me.”_

_He shivered, knowing for sure that he would._

_Strong hands slid down his hips, lifting them._

_“Trust me.”_

_He closed his eyes. Warm lips forced them open._

_“Trust me.”_

_Whispering_

_“Be mine.”_


	23. Rhythm and Rhymes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday Night Fever

_One, two,_

 

_Blood and bruise,_

_Death and fear._

  
 

They beat him black-and-blue,

Following a merciless tempo.

  
 

_Three, four,_

_Burn and break_

_Dice and fight._

  
 

He ruined their poor rhythm

Playing off the beat

  
 

_Five, six_

_Brace and brave_

_Dash and flare_

He made up for lost time

Tapping out his own pulse

  
 

_Seven, eight_

_Blow and blast_

_Drill and free_

  
 

He blew the horn for me

Expecting a  _pas-de-deux_

  
 

_Nine, ten_

_Beat and bliss_

_Dance and fire_

  
 

He plays the drums on my body

Mercilessly

I follow the beat

Blissfully

Bursting into flames

Saturday night fever

 

 


	24. Never, never cut this...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rapunzillya... A ficlet.

Barking dogs, running, shouting men in the distance.

Panting, staggering agent. Slopes, bumps and hollows. Bushes, trees, brambles. Each stride takes his breath away. Soon, he'll stumble. Soon, he'll fall. Soon, he'll die.

He grabs branches, parts them, and suddenly, there is nothing to grab, nothing to part. Something stands in the emptiness. It's a tower, a stone tower. He drags himself to the rough, cold granite, and sneers bitterly as he realizes that there is no way in. Soon they'll be here.

Someone is calling his name from the top of the tower. It's a deluding dream. It just can't be. He leans back against the stone wall, waiting. Barking dogs, running, shouting men in the distance.

Someone is calling his name from the top of the tower, insistently, but he won't answer. It's a delusion. He closes his eyes.

Someone is calling his name from the top of the tower, impatiently, and he shivers. It's a delusion, but he gives up.

Right at the top, a familiar face is smiling. He can see the blue eyes, knowing for sure that it's a delusion. Barking dogs, running, shouting men in the distance.

The illusive Illya shakes his head, and he smiles, his hair flying in the air, his eyes sparkling. Barking dogs, running, shouting men in the distance. It's just a delusion, a last one, not so unpleasant. The dark haired man looks up and smiles, marveling at the impossible sight. The blond locks are undulating, growing longer, streaming, growing, growing. He laughs, stretching out bloody fingers, and freezes. Living silky golden hair coiling around his wrist, his arm, drawing him up effortlessly.

“ _Napoleon! Please! It hurts!”_

_His fingers are entwined around his lover's hair. He releases his grip reluctantly, still panting, and whispers._

“ _Never, never cut this, Rapunzillya!”_


	25. I just wanted to touch it a little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but I'm a liar...

Fresh.

The back of a fresh hand caressing shyly my feverish cheek.

A sweet palm wiping gently the sweat from my face.

Deft fingers drawing my parched lips with delicious ice.

Smooth.

Sooty hands rocking me slowly.

Childish cheek brushing mine.

Soft lips soothing my soreness.

Rough.

Adventurous hands exploring my body, mercilessly.

Ruthless fingers kneading, stroking, squeezing me.

Cruel nails flying over my chest down to my hips, stopping...

Warm.

Harsh tongue licking strength from me.

Burning lips breathing out love and desire.

Ravenous lips tasting, savoring me.

“I just want to touch it a little”, he said.

Liar.


	26. The curve of your eyes goes round my heart...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazel and blue...

 

 

 

 

Hazel eyes, they say. No. I am flooded with warm, dark honey, sparkling with liquorice, powdered with chocolate.

I hear your laughter in them. They touch me, taste me the way your fingers, your lips, your body will.

I'll make love to you till I steal the darkness from them.

_They say that your eyes are blue. No. A crystalline lava kindles me, sparkling with steel, turquoise and gold, powdered with a frosty mist._

_I read your soul in them. They engulf me the way your body will._

_I'll make love to you till I steal the blues from them._


	27. Droplet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Way to Heaven

The droplet hesitates, then slides down a blond lock, rebounds off the long eyelashes, reflecting a blue twinkle, licks the smooth cheek, curls up in the swollen lower lip, draws the strong jaw, the soft chin, muses, strolls around the sweet neck, the smart collarbone, rests in the blond hair chest, shivers around the pink nibble, wanders about the flat, muscular, soft stomach, skirts the navel, heading in the right direction, wasting no more time, sneaks under the loose belt, playing with blond moss.

Another droplet hesitates. I'll kiss it on those lips. Now, I know the way to heaven.

 


	28. Spy vs Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy games...

 

 

 

We're back to the wooden cabin. The mere sight of him makes me shiver. He points at the outside shower, inquiringly, but I'll let him go first. I am exhausted. I sit down on the grass, by the sun, leaning back against the old dry stone wall, and I close my eyes. He has picked up a towel. His white shirt is in rags at the front. Did I say it? The mere sight of him makes me shiver, the medal glittering through the tatters, the pink nipples playing hide and seek, here and there, the blond hair chest, one or two shades darker than his wet locks. He stretches himself, turning his back to me. Amazing. I don't move. I don't want him to know. The white shirt is intact, the wet clothe fitting so closely round his powerful shoulders, his thin waist, emphasizing the cleft, in the small of his back. The mere sight of this body both so slender and so muscular makes me shiver. He's undoing the two buttons left. He could tear off the tattered shirt, but, no. He shakes his head, staring at it. His golden skin looks so smooth. Suddenly he turns to me. I am innocently asleep. No clue. I am perfectly relaxed, my jacket casually dropped across my hips. No evidence. I won't dare and try to peep at him through my eyelashes right now. He can't guess. I am a spy, well-trained, brilliant.

“Napoleon?” He's close. I didn't hear him walking. He's a spy, too. I can feel his breath on my temple. I have to wake up, but suddenly my jacket is sliding away from my groin. “Your jacket will be spoiled if...” He stops talking.. He sees. He knows. He knows from the beginning. He's a spy.


	29. Silent Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walls were thin...

Will versus will. Stormy hazel eyes meeting deep blue ones. Slow, endless thrusts, undulating hips. Hands grabbing hands, squeezing them. Flat, sweaty stomachs hitting each other, silently. Half open lips, mute with desire, suddenly pressed into a shoulder to silence their panting. Smooth lips mercilessly licking along a temple down to an earlobe, whispering a silent chuckle, and suddenly choking with an intoxicating panic, as he realized he wouldn't be able to smother his moaning. Strong legs locked around him, strong palms dragging his face, unfathomable blue eyes drowning him. Burning lips silencing each other's cry. So thin walls. Silence.


	30. Blowing in the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things aren't best left unsaid...

I saw him. He stood in the alley, his back to the cabin, his back to me. Sand-colored locks were flying in the breeze.

I could have answered him.

_The wind is whisking the sand off the floor, bringing it back, again and again._

I saw him walking towards the road, barefoot, carrying his shoes.

I could have told him.

The wind was blowing, wirling, again and again, erasing footprints, mercilessly.

I saw him by the roadside, putting his shoes on, his back to the cabin, his back to me, and walking away. Sand-colored locks were flying in the breeze.

I could have called him.

_The wind is whisking the sand off the floor, bringing it back, again and again._

“I love you.”

He smiled gently, picked up his shoes, and left.

I could have called him, told him, answered him.

_The sand is flowing through my hopeless fingers, swept along by the wind._

_I whisper in the breeze, again and again._

_The words are flowing through my powerless lips, swept along by the wind._

“ _I love you.”_

_Fingers are squeezing mine, holding back the sand._

_Lips are brushing mine, holding back the words._

_He's here._


	31. Gordian knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cheshire Cat vs the Mad Hare

They saved innocents. Everytime, everywhere, they saved innocents.

They were expendable. Everytime, everywhere, they were expendable.

They had saved the world. No. He had been captured.

His partner had saved the world.

The evil device had collapsed.

He lay sprawled on the ground, feeling the bite of the ropes around his wrists, his ankles. He had tried to loose them. Everytime, a piercing, violent pain ran through his arms, his legs, his whole body. Everytime, the Mad Hare sneered maliciously, sipping at his tea, unconcerned about the dust. Unconcerned about the danger.

Gravels fell from the ceiling, here and there. His hands didn't hurt any more. He didn't feel them. He didn't feel the ropes. Bonds were about to be broken. Bonds with the past. Partnership bonds. Friendship bonds. And... no, nothing more. He bit his lips, bitterly. “An unwritten story...”. The Cheshire Cat had taken over from the Mad Hare, shaking his head with compassion.

He closed his eyes, being in no mood for listening, but the cat's whiskers were tickling his cheeks, and two strong paws grasped him, freeing him from the rope, helping him up. A blond, dusty, blue eyed cat. “I hate unwritten stories, my friend”


	32. Because.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why?

The rain had been falling for what they could assess to be an eternity. Everything around them, trees, leaves, grass, moss, rocks, gravels were flowing, lapping dripping. Water was relentlessy running throug their hair down to their faces, blinding them, down to the nape of their necks, to their backs. However, they didn't feel it anymore, for they were drenched to the skin. No. For they were turning into liquid element.

The sun was burning them almost to death for what they could assess to be an eternity. Everything around them, plants, gravels were scorched, calcined. The light, a dazzling, merciless light was blindig them. No shadow, no night. No breeze, no air. No sweat, no saliva. They didn't feel the heat anymore. For they were about to turn into dust.

Snow, ice were whipping their faces, as they were clinging to the cliff.

Explosions, shootings were surrounding them, as they were escaping from Hell, dragging the innocent away from their enemy.

Gas. Drugs. Poison.

Fear. Pain.

Hope.

Home.

Love.

Napoleon Solo was sitting next to the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at the flames. Illya Kuryakin leaned over his lover's shoulder.

“He who has a why can bear almost any how.”


	33. Will you invite me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Fate, destiny... I made the manip. Then, posted the prompt #336, AFI's Top 100 Movie Quotes, on slashthedrabble   
> And there was the quote 83... Bela Lugosi, Dracula, "Listen to them. Children of the night. What music they make."  
> So...

 

_"Listen to them. Children of the night.”_

He woke up, instantaneously on the alert. The French windows were – inexplicably - half open and wisps of mist, almost fluorescent, swayed in a chilly breeze, swirling in the bedroom.

He knew the voice, the familiar accent. He knew the line, too. Something flapped its wings outside and howling creatures burst into a creepy song.

“ _What music they make..."_

It wasn't his partner's voice It couldn't be. A shadowy figure appeared behind the pane, blurred, fuzzy. Human... wearing what looked like to be a cloak. A large hand brushed the glass and pushed it.

“Will you invite me in?”

Gorgeous. The thought, though unseemly, occurred to his mind. Blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, ghost of a smile hovering on attractive lips... a white shirt, open-necked – of course. Illya.

Illya?

The man was his partner. And he wasn't. He couldn't be... But Napoleon, beyond reason, held out his hand. The die was cast and he closed his eyes.

_He could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the sensitive skin of his throat._

“ _You are a man of good... taste...”_

Merciless lips drew the outline of his jaw and kissed him.

Passionately.


	34. He got the whole world...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bomb...

 

 

 

“Go. Now!”

He shook his head. He couldn't run away, leaving the man he loved with this bomb.

“It's no use. I'll take it out of the gallery...” Illya cracked a smile, “See you later.”

Napoleon persisted in shaking his head but the Russian crept in the narrow passage, the threatening box in his hands.

As Napoleon was about to go out, dust devils sprang from the walls and everything vibrated. He closed his eyes, breathless, the unbearable reality dawning on him.

Warm hand on his cheek.

“I found an embrasure...”

Blues eyes, dusty face, boyish contentment...

“Saved the world...”


	35. “Everyone make mistakes. That's why there is an eraser on every pencil.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blast, a doorway, a kiss... a mistake?

 

 

 

They huddled in the doorway to get out of the blast, his partner taking him in a tight embrace. He couldn't say how it happened. His lips brushed a warm neck, feeling blood pulsation, a scruffy cheek... and suddenly... lips. Ravenous lips. In the midst of apocalypse, they kissed passionately.

Then... they raced towards the reinforcement, came back to the HQ and... his partner acted as if nothing had happened.

The pencil he had been chewing, tormenting for hours broke.

“Everyone make mistakes. That's why there is an eraser on every pencil.”

But some mistakes couldn't be fixed.

Stupid proverb.


	36. He's got the whole world...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya, a bom...

 

 

“Go. Now!”

He shook his head. He couldn't run away, leaving the man he loved with this bomb.

“It's no use. I'll take it out of the gallery...” Illya cracked a smile, “See you later.”

Napoleon persisted in shaking his head but the Russian crept in the narrow passage, the threatening box in his hands.

As Napoleon was about to go out, dust devils sprang from the walls and everything vibrated. He closed his eyes, breathless, the unbearable reality dawning on him.

Warm hand on his cheek.

“I found an embrasure...”

Blues eyes, dusty face, boyish contentment...

“Saved the world...”


	37. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answer to a prompt from slashthedrabble, Sacrifice.  
> For years, he didn't worry about sacrifice...

He forwent everything, renounced ordinary relationship, gave up getting married and starting a family. He would sacrifice himself as need be. For years, he didn't worry about it. By way of compensation, he got an exciting and fulfilling life.

He rescued innocent people.

He thwarted evil plots.

He saved the world.

This was worth everything.

But hell had broken loose. Suddenly he had realized that the man who lay next to him, his arm stretched over his waist, his hair tickling his shoulder.. wasn't “expendable”. He loved him. It was great, thrilling, wonderful and... frightening.

“We have each other...”

Yes.


	38. Obsession?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt Obsession, slashthedrabble

Oddly enough, details drew his attention. Details he wouldn't have noticed before. Silky, golden, often tousled mane, impenetrable, mischievous, icy, sometimes innocently boyish, sometimes so sad blue eyes, pouting, scornful, sometimes smiling and always luscious lips, small, slender, gracefully moving silhouette... And – he couldn't help sighing at the thought – the most beautiful butt. Yes, details he wouldn't have noticed before... in a man.  
It was kind of an obsession, he had to admit it. An obsession at first sight, unexpected, inconceivable, extravagant and devastating.  
“Napoleon?”  
He was looking at him, smirking as if he knew. He didn't. Of course not.


	39. Wheels of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answer to a slashtheimage prompt...   
> Tick... tock... Three drabbles... Time after time.

Tick... The young Soviet Navy lieutenant looked at his superior, impassive – at least he hoped he was. “At your command, general.” The officer frowned and left the office. The young man took off his cap and read again the five letters on the envelope. U.N.C.L.E. Tock... The young agent raised an eyebrow but knew better than to argue. “Yes, sir.” The older man's eyes twinkled strangely as he pushed a file towards him and left the office. The young man grimaced as he read again the name. His partner-to-be's name. A Russian. A Soviet. Illya Kuryakin. Tick tock...

Tick...

He was terrified beyond all understanding but deep inside himself, despite the drug, he clung to the familiar face, the worrying voice, the warm eyes...

 

Tock...

He was putting back in order the pieces of the dilapidated jigsaw of his memories, giving battle, alone, hopeless... Suddenly... “It's me, Illya. You remember?”

 

Tick...

Illya held him in a tight embrace, helping him to the bank, whispering both supporting and hortatory words, his arm around his waist...

 

Tock...

Napoleon cursed at the sight of his back and sponged the bloody bruises as gently as he could, in disregard of the situation.

 

Tick

Touching him. Straightening his collar, checking his lapel, brushing dust from his hair, his cheeks. For some reason...

Touching.

 

Tock

Flesh touching flesh. It wasn't a big deal but he still could feel the smooth skin, marveling at the sinewy though slender body.

Flesh touching flesh.

 

Tick

He had this expression... this cheerful expression he usually got when he was about to eat a tasty meal.

 

Tock

He grabbed his shoulder, let his hand slide down and wrapped his arm around his waist. Their lips brushed each other, by chance. By chance? They pressed together feverishly. Endlessly.

Tick tock.


End file.
